There and Back Again: Sauron's Tale
by The Phantom of Skyrim
Summary: After the destruction of the One Ring, Sauron was found to not have been destroyed like it was believed, but rather was transported to another world similar to Middle Earth. Follow Sauron's adventures as he tries to regain his power in the land of Skyrim.
1. Chapter 1: Unbound

There and Back Again: Sauron's Tale

Chapter 1: Unbound

Summary: After the destruction of the One Ring, Sauron was found to not have been destroyed like it was believed, but rather was transported to another world similar to Middle Earth. Follow Sauron's adventures as he tries to regain his power in the land of Skyrim.

**Author's Note: Alright, I should have seen this coming. Let's just say that with the new Hobbit movie, an episode of Man at Arms where they made Sauron's mace, and just the sheer power of the character in question, I had to make something about Sauron. I had planned to start a play-through in Skyrim as Sauron (A Vampire Lord who specializes in Destruction, Conjuration, and hitting things over the head with a mace while clad in Daedric Armor) but due to certain circumstances I was forced to put those plans on hold. I wanted to do it for a while once I saw the Daedric Armor for the first time, but held off for some random reason. So since I can't create him in Skyrim right now, I figured I'd just put his story into a fanfiction based on how I would have played the character. **

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series or the Lord of the Rings franchise. They are the properties of their respective owners. Please support the official release.**_

Blood-red eyes snapped open. An influx of senses he had been limited from ever feeling immediately assaulted his mind. He couldn't believe it. He was alive?

Sauron looked around in shock, almost not wanting to believe what had happened. He looked down at himself, disbelieving of the fact that he actually had a body now, and that he wasn't just a gigantic fiery eye on top of a tower in Mordor. Sauron looked at his hand, almost hoping to see the sight of his ring on his finger. Nothing, just bare skin.

Sauron mentally swore angrily in various different languages. He groaned and cursed his stupidity for getting his hopes up. Of course he didn't have the Ring, it was thrown into the fires of Mt. Doom by those stupid halflings! Sauron could tell that now anything he might have planned to do with his life would probably now need to factor in the loss of the Ring. Without it, he was mostly powerless.

Sauron, finally taking advantage of some of his new senses, looked around to try and figure where in Middle Earth he was currently at. He seemed to be in some form of a forest in practically the middle of nowhere. He groaned and tried to stand up. Key word being _tried_. After so long of not being able to use his legs (or not having any for that matter) his motor skills left something to be desired, and he fell flat on his face. Brushing his dark hair out of his crimson eyes, Sauron growled angrily and fought against the urge to fall again by struggling to his feet. He snarled as the muscles burned from the lack of use, and he leaned against a tree in order to get to his bearings.

Sauron coughed and spat out an amalgam of blood and saliva as he forced his vocal cords to cooperate to his will. He growled once more and coughed up more blood and saliva before wiping his mouth.

"That was unpleasant," he muttered in a gravelly voice. Popping his neck, he glanced around once more. Gingerly, he took a step forward. His leg shook, but held firm. He took another step. Then another. And another.

He fought hard against the desire to let out a triumphant roar of jubilation. At least he could walk again.

Sauron, after once again popping his neck, then set off in a leisurely pace, hoping to find some form of shelter, or civilization. Hell, he'd even do for something _proper_ to wear and not these rags.

_Sometime later…_

After trudging through the woods for over an hour, Sauron was beginning to get seriously annoyed. While normally being annoyed for Sauron would result in somebody nearby dying in a horrendous manner, given his current state this was not the case. He was tired, hungry, and all around really pissed off.

Right as he was about ten seconds away from trying to channel what magical power he had left into doing _something_ to vent his frustration, he began to hear sounds that were all too familiar to the former Dark Lord. Shouts of rage and pain, the clashing of iron and steel. These were the sounds of a battle.

A grin slowly found its way onto Sauron's face. This was something that he definitely understood. All he needed was a mace, and then he could finally vent some righteous anger by bashing someone's skull in.

Sauron crept through the trees and found himself watching what could best be described as a massacre. Groups of men and women in leather and steel armor were, for lack of a better word, slaughtering a smaller group of men and women in blue chain mail and leather. Sauron watched as the smaller group finally seemed to surrender to the other. Sauron crept forward slightly to get a better look.

"You there! Rebel! Come out of those trees before we put an arrow in your skull!"

A woman in officer's armor, and with a particularly irritating voice, was yelling at Sauron for some odd reason. Rebel? Sauron was struck a little off guard as he walked out. "Rebel?" he asked.

The officer scowled. "Don't bother denying it scum! Surrender yourself without a fight and we won't kill you!" she yelled. Sauron winced. His hearing was apparently either much better than before, or she just had a voice of the right frequency to annoy him.

"I'm no rebel," he growled. The officer's face contorted in a sneer. She looked to the other armor-clad soldiers and nodded in his direction. The soldiers unsheathed their blades and started advancing on the former Dark Lord.

Sauron's crimson eyes narrowed. "I may not be as strong as I once was, but I'm still not one to be trifled with," Sauron snarled. Channeling on his magic energy, his outstretched palms were immediately ignited in flames. The flames condensed into a small fireball in each hand, flickering with a strange intensity not often seen in magic.

With an unrestrained battle cry on his lips, Sauron extended both arms out in front of him, unleashing twin torrents of flames from his hands. Two soldiers quickly fell prey to his fire, screaming in agony as their skin and muscles were burned away. Snatching a blade from one of the fallen, he extinguished the flames in his right hand and readied the blade in a combat stance. The officer barked out orders for the soldiers to "Kill this rebel dog!" as four other soldiers surrounded Sauron.

Sauron glanced around, the bangs of his long hair falling over his left eye, his visible eye darting between his four targets. One held a single sword and leather armor, another a sword and shield, another with a two-handed greatsword and metal-studded leather armor, and one with steel armor and a mace. A smirk found its way onto his face as he noted the soldier with iron mace in his hand. Not the best quality, but it would do.

Sauron tilted his head as his smirk grew slightly bigger. "Let's see if your dancing skills are up to par then," he said with a slight mocking tone.

The soldier with the mace took that as a personal affront to his honor, and he charged forward. "For the glory of the Empire!" he roared as he swung his mace. Sauron almost lazily blocked it with his stolen sword, before slashing the legionnaire across the wrist and catching the dropped mace. Spinning on his heels, he chucked the sword like a javelin to impale said legionnaire in the stomach before breaking his neck with a rising strike from the mace.

The other three legionnaires were in slight awe and fear at the speed and efficiency in which Sauron had dispatched another one of their brethren. Sauron flicked blood off of his mace and looked at the other legionnaires. "Guess his steps were a little too shallow to dance with me," Sauron remarked before smirking. "One down, three to go."

The other three circled him warily, their blades unsheathed and at the ready. Sauron spun his mace idly in his hand, a small fireball igniting in his left hand once more. The two legionnaires with swords lunged forward in an attempt to stab the once feared Lord of Mordor. Sauron ducked under one sword and blocked the other before flinging his hand out and spraying another gout of fire at the two. The one with the shield instinctively raised his shield to protect himself from the fire, still receiving minor burns on his face and legs. The other wasn't so lucky and he fell to the ground as a charred corpse, having been consumed so fast he wasn't even able to scream. Right as the one with the shield lowered his guard, Sauron dashed forward and swung the mace across his face. Blood flew as the skin broke and bones were crushed, and the legionnaire fell down dead, blood pooling near his head.

Sauron kicked the corpse lightly with his foot and shook his head. "Yet another disappointment," he murmured. "Three down, one to go," he said, looking at the final legionnaire with a predatory grin.

The legionnaire was almost on the verge of losing control of his bowels, the greatsword in his hands shaking slightly. Sauron's crimson eyes gleamed, his predatory grin slowly becoming wider and more sadistic as he slowly stalked towards his prey. The legionnaire swallowed nervously and let out a cry. "For the Legion!" he yelled, his voice cracking a bit when he said "legion" as he leveled the sword and charged at Sauron like a jouster. Sauron's grin faded into a scowl as he dropped into a more rigid stance. Raising his mace, he deflected the blade slightly while the legionnaire kept running at him. Realizing his mistake, the legionnaire tried to back up before Sauron's mace connected with his neck. With a quick snap, the flanges on the mace broke the man's neck before severing his head completely from his body. The head flew through the air before falling to the ground with a sickening splat.

Sauron looked down at the head and scoffed. "And then there were none. Figures." He turned to the officer and her remaining soldiers. "So, are there any of you who believe that you can still keep up with my steps for a little longer?"

The officer's dark skin was slowly turning a shade of purple that Sauron had only seen on a few orcs back in Middle Earth. She drew her own sword and simply stood there. Sauron let out a cruel chuckle. "What, just going to stand there and wait for your death?" he asked. The ball of fire appeared in his hand once more. Right as he was about to cast the spell however, something struck him in the back of the head. Then, darkness.

_Sometime later…_

Sauron's eyes flickered open as he winced with a poorly disguised curse in the Black Speech. He groaned and attempted to move his hands. He was rather insulted to find the leather strips binding his hands. A quick tug later, he also found they had been reinforced with some enchantment, as he could no longer call upon fire like he had before. Another curse in the Black Speech escaped him, this time much more guttural and angrier than before.

"Hey, you're finally awake," a voice said. Sauron looked up to see a man sitting there in chain mail, leather, and furs, with blond hair and a scraggly beard looking at him. He must've been one of the "rebels" that bit- I mean officer was talking about.

"Ran into a bit of bad luck there eh?" the blond man asked. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." Sauron groaned in confirmation. "I'm Ralof by the way," the blond stated. "Sauron of Mordor," Sauron replied.

Ralof raised an eyebrow. "Mordor? Never heard of it. Is it far from here?" he asked. Sauron nodded. "You could say that."

At that moment, the dark-haired man sitting next to Ralof, apparently a thief, decided to open his mouth. "Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!" he whined. Sauron's eyes narrowed in annoyance. Was this land filled with people who could make him want to feed them to a Balrog just by speaking?

The thief turned to Sauron. "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!" Ralof rolled his eyes. "Well, we're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief," he said irritably. The legionnaire driving the cart yelled out an annoyed "Shut up back there!"

The thief looked at the man sitting next to Sauron. This one looked like a nobleman of sorts with his fur robes and amulets. For some reason, he was gagged as well as bound. "What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked. Ralof apparently took offense to that. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" he snarled.

Sauron's interest was finally piqued. _"True High King? This Ulfric must be pretty high up on the food chain if he's considered that,"_ Sauron mused to himself. The thief must have thought the same thing. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you… Oh gods! Where are they taking us?!" he asked frantically.

Ralof sighed in resignation. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," he said solemnly. "Sovngarde?" Sauron asked. Ralof turned to him. "A part of our religion. It's the name of the afterlife," he replied. Sauron's eyes widened. Afterlife? He just got back from being pretty much dead already! He didn't want to go back so soon!

Sauron and the thief were in similar thoughts, although Sauron was a lot less vocal about it. "No this isn't happening! This can't be happening!" he stammered. Ralof looked at the thief, a small glimmer of pity appearing on his face. "Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?" he asked. "Why do you care?" "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof replied in an almost sage-like manner. The thief was a bit taken aback by Ralof's words. "Rorikstead. I-I'm from Rorikstead."

As the cart clattered through the gate, Sauron noticed the sight of what appeared to be a general talking to a golden-skinned elf in black robes. The thief began quietly praying to various gods and goddesses that didn't sound at all familiar to Sauron, pleading for help from the "Divines" that made up his pantheon.

Ralof stared at the general and the elf and scowled. "Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor! And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this!" he growled. Sauron felt inclined to agree. All of his experiences with elves never went well back in Middle Earth, so he had no reason to like the elves here either.

Sauron tuned out Ralof's ranting and tales of "how he used to be sweet on a girl from here" in favor of looking around. It seemed to be a typical sort of town for this day and age, and it almost reminded him of Bree in a few ways. Glancing to his right, he noticed a man ushering a child inside the house. Sauron snorted to himself. Innocence was usually lost rather quickly in this day and age. Trying to preserve it was like keeping a fire going. It was either a never-ending task, or it failed rather quickly and was snuffed out.

Sauron was brought out of his musings when the cart stopped. "Why are we stopping?" the thief asked nervously. Sauron rolled his eyes in disgust and glared at the thief. "Why do you think? End of the line," he growled. The thief's eyes widened in panic, and he glanced around frantically. Sauron scoffed and shook his head.

The four all stood up and began getting out of the cart right as the thief began shouting. "No! We're not rebels!" he yelled. Ralof scowled and replied "Face your death with some courage thief!" "You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" the thief screamed. Sauron gave a dry laugh. "You really think they'd just not execute you because you're not a rebel? In my home, thieves lost their hands so as to dissuade them from stealing anymore, then they lost their heads if they kept it up!" he snarled. The thief shook his head frantically, his eyes darting form side to side in an attempt to find a method of escape.

The officer from before looked at the prisoners with poorly veiled disgust. "Step forward towards the block when we call your name! One at a time!" she screeched. Sauron winced, the familiar urge to bash her face in with a mace returning at full force. Ralof groaned under his breath. "Empire loves their damn lists," he muttered to Sauron. Despite the severity of the situation, Sauron couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. Gondor had been the same with their prisoners after all.

The legionnaire holding the list sighed mournfully as he looked down at the small book in his hand. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," he called out in a monotone. Ulfric walked towards the circle of rebels, head still held high like the nobleman he was. Sauron couldn't help but respect a man with that kind of dignity. Even as a prisoner, Ulfric still held himself like a man of power, and if there was one thing Sauron respected, it was power. "It has been an honor Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said to the man.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the legionnaire called. Ralof gave a resigned smile and nodded his head at Sauron before taking his place in the circle. The legionnaire looked at the list once again. "Lokir of Rorikstead," he called. The thief, apparently Lokir, shook his head frantically. "NO! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" he screamed as he shoved aside an Imperial and took off running down the way, ignoring the officer's cries of "Halt!" "You're not gonna kill me!" he yelled. Seconds later, an arrow lodged itself in the back of his neck. Sauron watched with apathetic eyes. He really didn't like that thief, so he was glad to see him die.

The officer turned back. "Anyone else feel like running?" she asked. The legionnaire with the list suddenly looked at Sauron. "Wait, you there. Step forward," he said. Sauron snarled irritably, but stepped forward anyways. The legionnaire looked at the list, then back up at Sauron. "Who are you?" he asked.

Sauron smirked lightly. "I am Sauron of Mordor," he replied. The officer scowled, apparently remembering how easily Sauron slaughtered her soldiers. The legionnaire looked at the list. "I've never heard of Mordor before. Is it some strange country far away?" Sauron chuckled. "You could say that," he replied.

The legionnaire nodded and turned to the officer. "Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list." The officer's eyes widened before narrowing angrily. "Forget the list. He goes to the block." Sauron's crimson eyes flashed as the pupils morphed into cat-like slits for a split second, his red eyes looking more like they were made out of fire for a moment.

The legionnaire sighed. "By your orders Captain," he said. He turned to Sauron. "I'm truly sorry. I'll personally make sure your remains are returned to your homeland," he said. Sauron nodded to the legionnaire. He may have a dislike of this "Empire" from now on, but he'd at least try to remember this legionnaire specifically. Maybe he'd grant him a (mostly) painless death.

Sauron turned and walked towards the circle of prisoners. Tuning out the monologue of the General towards Ulfric Stormcloak, he proceeded to ignore practically everything up until the red-headed Stormcloak got his head chopped off. He had to give them credit, those Stormcloaks had serious guts to go to their deaths without a glimmer of fear in their eyes.

One Stormcloak screamed angrily at the "Imperial bastards" while the members of the town screamed things like "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!" Sauron almost rolled his eyes at the hatred expressed in all of those statements. He had heard worse screamed at him from the various elves and Gondorians he had locked up in his torture chambers than what these commoners could muster up. Who knew that the musical language of the elves had some rather creative curses and swear words in it? It was very entertaining to listen to.

"Next, the milk-drinker in the rags!" Sauron's face contorted in confusion. _"Milk-drinker?"_ he thought to himself. _"Since when was drinking milk a detriment to one's masculinity?"_ A faint roar sounded off in the distance, breaking through his thoughts. All the legionnaires and prisoners looked up at the sky, some in confusion and others in nervousness.

The legionnaire from before, the one with the list, looked at the captain. "There it is again. Did you hear that?" he asked. The captain looked at him angrily. "I said. Next. Prisoner!" she snarled. The legionnaire sighed. "To the block prisoner, nice and easy," he replied, looking at Sauron. Sauron's scowl grew a bit bigger. Forget what he said earlier, that legionnaire is going to die MUCH more painfully than before. If there was one thing Sauron hated most of all, it was submissiveness to anything that wasn't him. It didn't help that said legionnaire was being submissive to an officer in particular whom Sauron despised with every manner of his being at the moment.

Upon refusing to move, one of the legionnaires behind him kicked Sauron straight at the captain. Catching the former Dark Lord, she forced him to his knees and slammed his head down on the block. Sauron groaned and tried to raise his head, only for the captain to smash a foot down on the side of his head and kick him back down. For the umpteenth time, Sauron cursed his currently weak mortal form.

From his position on the chopping block, Sauron could literally do nothing except stare slightly upward towards his soon-to-be executioner. He seemed to be the stereotypical headsman, large and muscular while dressed in leather and chain mail. A black hood with eyeholes cut into it wrapped around the upper half of his face, and an enormous two-handed battle-axe with a monstrously large blade held in his hands. The headsman looked blankly down at Sauron, almost like some form of a golem or an automaton. At least he didn't cough at random intervals like that weird hobbit-like thing that had found his Ring years ago.

The headsman proceeded to take his axe in both hands and begin to _slowly_ raise it over his head. He was so wrapped up in his task that he completely missed the fact that everyone else was screaming in terror at the sight of the gigantic black dragon that just flew over the mountainside. Right as the man had gotten the axe lifted over his head, the dragon proceeded to land on the tower behind him, causing a shockwave that knocked him right on his face. As he tried to stand, the dragon looked down on him with gleaming red eyes that seemed to remind Sauron of himself. The dragon glared down at the headsman with a look of contempt before letting out an echoing roar.

The shockwave that emitted from the dragon's mouth blasted the headsman back, shattering the bones in his body and killing him instantly. At the same time, the sky turned a dark orange, as flaming chunks of rock began raining down upon the town. Sauron himself was sent flying backwards, cracking his head on a wooden railing. The dragon let out another wave of blue energy from his mouth before rising in the air with a flap of his wings. A dark, growling voice echoed from the dragon as he rose.

"**Zu'u Alduin! Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!"**

Sauron had no idea what he had just said, but he had a feeling that the dragon (was Alduin his name?) was bragging somehow.

His vision blurred and his head throbbing, Sauron tried to stagger to his feet, once again cursing his weak mortal form. A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder and helped him stand. Sauron couldn't really tell who it was, and he was loath to accept help from anyone unless they served underneath him. All he could see was a blur of skin-color, blue, brown, and blonde.

"Hey! Foreigner! Get up!" Ralof yelled over the roaring of the dragon and the screams and yells of townsfolk and legionnaires. Sauron shook his head as his vision cleared. "Come on friend! The gods won't give us another chance! This way!" Sauron, still disoriented from getting flung like a child's toy, simply nodded and allowed Ralof to half lead half drag him over to the tower opposite them.

After the two reached the tower, Ralof let go of Sauron and closed the door before propping it with a barrel from the other side of the room. Glancing over at Sauron he pulled out a small dagger and motioned him over. When Sauron didn't move Ralof walked over to him, slightly irritated. A quick slash later and Sauron's bonds fell to the ground. He rubbed he wrists before igniting twin balls of fire in both hands. Satisfied, Sauron cut off the flow of energy and closed his hands. He nodded at Ralof before noticing the one called Ulfric walking over from where they had set down their wounded.

"Jarl Ulfric! Was that really a dragon? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked, his voice betraying his nervousness. Ulfric kept up a façade of an emotionless commander as he scoffed. "Legends don't burn down villages," he said in his deep voice. Seconds later, a loud roar filled the air from the outside, the dragon's rage evident to all the occupants of the room. Ulfric's emotionless façade cracked slightly. "We need to move! NOW!" he bellowed. Ralof turned to Sauron. "Up through the tower! Let's go!" he yelled. Sauron batted aside Ralof's hand. "I'm capable of walking just fine!" he growled.

Upon charging up the spiraling staircase of the tower, Sauron was greeted by the sight of the black dragon smashing his face through the wall and proceeding to incinerate a couple of helpless Stormcloaks with an inferno of flames erupting from his fanged maw. A few seconds later, the dragon snapped his jaws shut. He turned and regarded Sauron, for a moment. The dragon's red eyes narrowed as he spoke a single word to Sauron.

"**Dovahkiin!"**

Sauron raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?" he asked. The dragon seemed a bit stunned at Sauron's nonchalant response. The dragon eyed him for a moment before leaping off of the side of the tower and flying off to go rampage some more. Sauron regarded the sight of the dragon's form with interest. He had dealt with dragons before, but this one (while slightly smaller than some) seemed much more arrogant than Smaug, and given the power shown today Sauron couldn't help but give the dragon some grudging respect.

Glancing out of the hole in the tower, Sauron quickly leapt across the gap towards the inn a few yards away. To his immense annoyance, the inn happened to be farther away than he thought, and he ended up falling to the ground. He winced irritably as his bones groaned in protest, but perked up at seeing the crater that was made by his feet when he landed. Glancing at his hands, he ignited fire once more in his palms. Sauron was rather delighted to see that the fire had gotten larger and wilder, almost barely able to be contained in his hands.

Sauron extinguished the fire and took off at a run, dashing past townsfolk and Imperial legionnaires alike. As he ran, he noticed the black dragon flying by again, yelling out in his strange tongue once again.

"**Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!"**

Once again, Sauron got the impression that the dragon was either bragging or taunting his foes/prey. The second thought was confirmed as the dragon proceeded to incinerate a squadron of legionnaires and then pick two up in his claws and drop them from a great height.

"You! Into the keep!" Sauron turned to see Ralof, who had picked up a war axe from somewhere, gesturing towards another tower. Sauron groaned but followed him anyways.

Once inside, they were met with the sight of a dead Stormcloak with orange-red hair. Ralof quickly ran over and put a finger on the man's neck, only to sigh sadly. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde brother," he murmured. Sauron watched impassively. _"Bonds,"_ he thought. _"All they ever do is cause one pain. Why would anyone willingly submit themselves to this form of psychological torture?"_

Ralof stood and looked over at the dark-haired man. "We better get moving. No telling what that dragon's going to do." He gestured towards the dead man. "Better grab Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore."

Sauron took one look at the rather flimsy-looking armor and shook his head. "I prefer something that can actually PROTECT me, thank you very much," he growled as he snatched the axe off of the corpse. He hefted it in his hands. Not very good quality, but it would have to do until he found a decent mace.

Perking his ears, he heard a rather familiar and unwelcome sound. "Come on soldier! Move it!" The captain whom he so vehemently despised. To hell with that brat Aragorn, this woman took the top of his "list of most hated people" at the moment. And he was going to enjoy this.

The minute she and the other soldier walked through the door, Sauron roared and swung his axe right at the captain. Quickly drawing her sword, she blocked the strike and attempted to stab Sauron in the stomach. Ducking under her swing. Sauron slashed her across the chest with the axe, sending her reeling into the wall. Right as she stood, he impaled the axe on her left wrist, before grabbing her sword and effectively nailing her to the wall. The captain screamed out in agony as she tried to break free.

Sauron gave a sadistic grin as he took the dagger from her belt and held it up towards her face. She immediately sensed his intention and shook her head violently, pleading with him to not do this. Sauron merely tilted his head as his eyes took on their former fiery appearance.

"Payback," he remarked as he raised the dagger behind his head. "Though art a heartless bitch."

Ralof on the other hand had just finished dispatching the other legionnaire to Sovngarde when he heard the captain's ear-piercing scream. Ralof turned to see the dark-haired man laughing demonically as he stabbed her repeatedly in the eye. Seconds later, Sauron cut out her tongue, before slashing across her throat with the knife. He then impaled the blade in her forehead and simply left her bleeding corpse crucified to the wall. He turned to Ralof and smirked, his flame-like eyes reverting back to normal crimson irises.

"What?" he asked rhetorically. Ralof swallowed nervously and pointed to the body of the captain. Sauron looked back at his handiwork. "Oh come on! Don't tell me you didn't want to stab her in the face for that annoying voice of hers! Not to mention she was going to send you to your death without so much as batting an eyelash," Sauron remarked. Ralof opened his mouth to retort, but the response died on his tongue. Sauron did have a point, even if he expressed it in a manner that would leave even the most battle-hardened Orc sick to his stomach.

Sauron then proceeded to remove the corpse's armor and don it over the rags he was wearing. Seeing Ralof's stare he simply shrugged. "This is at least of decent forging," he said as he placed the helmet over his head. Reaching down to the belt of the armor, he removed a key and tossed it to his temporary companion, before removing the sword and sheath from the other dead Imperial. He buckled the sheath around his waist and held the sword in his hand before nodding to the man.

Ralof shivered uneasily at the sight of the bloodstained armor of his companion before unlocking the gate across the room. Sauron walked after him, both going down the stairs right as a large tremor hit, causing the ground to shake and a huge pile of rubble to drop down in the hallway they planned on going through. Sauron snarled angrily. "We need to find another route," he stated angrily.

Noticing the wooden door to his left, Sauron raised a steel clad foot and kicked the door right off its hinges. The two Imperials who were rummaging through the barrels in the far corner of the room immediately jumped and drew their swords. Dashing forward, Sauron stabbed one in the throat before beheading him and grabbing his sword. Turning, he slashed and "X" across the other's much sturdier armor before ducking his head to let Ralof sink one of his axes in the soldiers un-helmeted face.

Ralof raised his foot and kicked the corpse off of his axe before wiping it on the leather armor of the other. He glanced around the room. "Seems to be a storeroom. Mind seeing if there are any potions in here?" Sauron grunted and checked the barrel, finding three red potions, and one blue and a green. Grabbing another red potion from the nearby table, Sauron stuffed them in a bag at his side and walked over to the other door.

Another flight of stairs led down to a room that Sauron easily recognized, much to his inner glee. "Trolls blood! This is a torture room!" Ralof gasped. Sauron walked past the stunned Stormcloak and incinerated the torturer with a gout of fire before tossing a sword into the face of his assistant. Walking over to the corpse of the assistant, he took note of the iron mace he wielded. Discarding his remaining sword, Sauron picked up the mace and fixed it to his belt. Looking at Ralof's raised eyebrow, Sauron shook his head. "I prefer maces to be honest. Blades and axes are a bit too… mainstream for me. Understand?" he asked.

Ralof nodded. Many people used blades, but maces weren't as commonly found in use by most bandits or other warriors in Skyrim. People tended to prefer to cut rather than to crush. Unless you were an Orc.

Grabbing an iron warhammer off of another corpse, Sauron eyed it for a moment before slinging it over his back and holstering it in place. He then proceeded to shatter the lock on the cage containing a mage's corpse and take everything within it. Sauron eyed the dark grey book with a strange fiery symbol on it before pocketing it. He stripped the robes off of the mage and stuffed them in his pockets before walking over towards the exit. Ralof simply sighed and followed his current companion down into the depths of the cave systems beneath Helgen.

Squinting at the sunlight, Sauron cursed once again in the Black Speech as he holstered his gore-covered mace. Ralof emerged from the cave shortly after him. Immediately Ralof ducked behind a rock, right as the black dragon from before flew right overhead, the beast letting out a triumphant roar of some sort. (At least, that's what it sounded like to Sauron) Ralof watched the dragon fly away before standing back up. "Well, looks like he's gone for good this time, but I'm not sticking around to find out if he'll come back. We better clear out of here."

He turned to Sauron. "You know, my sister Gerdur runs the mill down in Riverwood. I'm sure she'd help you out," he remarked. Sauron pondered this before nodding at the man. Given his current "stranded" status in this strange new world, he needed all the help he could get for now. (Though thanks to his pride, he would never really say this out loud)

"It's probably best if we split up. Good luck! I wouldn't have made it without your help today!" Ralof called as he started jogging down the path. Sauron stared after him for a moment before trudging after him. Ralof turned to see him following and raised an eyebrow. "I know nothing of this land," Sauron elaborated. "I know not where this 'Riverwood' is in relation to my current location." Ralof nodded in understanding. "Not surprising. Don't worry. I'll lead you there, and we'll see if my sister can get you a map or something."

The trip to Riverwood was rather uneventful, save an encounter with a couple of wolves that were easily dispatched by Sauron's warhammer and Ralof's arrows. As they walked, Sauron read through the book he had picked up from the torture chambers in Helgen. As he read, he kept practicing with harnessing his magic energy (apparently called magicka by the book) into creating electricity instead of fire. He also found that he could use his magicka to heal himself in small amounts.

Ralof watched with interest as Sauron practiced firing streams of electricity and healing the few small wounds he had sustained in their battle to escape Helgen. "I never saw much purpose in magic, but given how you've used it today I think I'm going to be changing my mind on that matter," he remarked.

Sauron extinguished the electricity in his hands as they walked into Riverwood. It seemed peaceful, just a simple, quiet little mountain town. Sauron hated it. It reminded him far too much of the Shire back in Middle Earth. He regretted not razing it to the ground when he had the chance.

Following Ralof to the lumber mill, they were met by a thin woman with hair the same color as Ralof's who immediately pulled Ralof into a bear-hug that had the man gasping for breath. Calling down her husband Hod from the log-cutter, the group followed Ralof to a stump where the man sat down and began to tell their tale.

_One explanation/exposition later…_

Sauron walked down the road, simply shaking his head at the logic of some mortals. After hearing from Ralof that he had "saved" the man's life, Gerdur immediately invited him to stay at their home and even gave him a copy of the house key as well as various supplies! And he thought that hobbits were known for their hospitality.

Sauron eyed the enchanted ring in his hand. It wasn't much, just a band of silver with a small purple stone imbedded in the center. He wasn't entirely sure of the enchantment on the ring itself, but he could see a faint orange glow on the edges of the ring. Perhaps something to make his spells stronger? Sauron groaned to himself. He really needed to find someplace that taught magic so he could figure out how this world's magic worked, and if it was any different from the magic back in Middle Earth.

Slipping the ring on his right index finger out of habit, Sauron decided to head to the forge and see if he could brush up on his skills a bit. The smith running the forge, a man named Alvor, was a pretty reasonable man with his prices and was only too happy to buy the looted weapons from Sauron. After buying several leather strips and a large amount of steel and iron ingots, Sauron managed to get permission to use the forge from Alvor. Taking a hammer and a steel ingot in hand, Sauron began his work of getting himself some decently crafted armor and maybe a new weapon.

After a couple of hours toiling over the forge, Sauron was decked out in much better quality armor than what he had before. His new steel armor gleamed in the sinking sun, the shoulder pauldrons welded on tight, his gauntlets and greaves strapped on, with a horned helmet over his head and a new steel mace fixated to his belt. The shape of this mace reminded him a bit of his old one, but he'd still need one stronger than this one. The steel mace would do for now, until he found or made a better one.

He sold the Imperial armor he had been using to Alvor, along with the iron mace and warhammer respectively. Looking down at his current attire, Sauron nodded in affirmation. At least he looked capable now, rather than completely ridiculous in that old Imperial armor.

As he walked down the streets of the small town, Sauron stopped at a house with a sign labeled "Riverwood Trader" in front of it. Checking the amount of gold he had, Sauron debated whether to see what they had for sale. Against his better judgment, he decided to go inside.

Upon venturing into the Riverwood Trader, he heard the unmistakable sound of raised voices in the store. "Well, one of us has to do something!" a distinctly female voice yelled. "No absolutely not! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

The two in question happened to be the shopkeeper and woman. Sauron idly wondered if the two were siblings or not. Right as the woman was about to respond, the shopkeeper noticed Sauron standing in the doorway. "Oh! A customer. Sorry you had to hear that," he said sheepishly.

Sauron walked over to the counter. "I feel like this may give me a headache, but what happened that caused you two to have such a loud argument?" he asked. The shopkeeper gave a small start. "Oh uh, it's nothing important. Me and my sister just had a bit of a break-in a day ago," the shopkeeper replied. Sauron almost laughed. His earlier assumption about their relation was actually correct. "What did they take?" "An ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."

Sauron groaned to himself. "I feel like I'm going to regret this, but I'll keep an eye out for it in my travels." "You will?" the shopkeeper asked, hope beginning to creep into his voice. "Tell you what, I've just got some gold coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you get my claw back!" Sauron sighed. "I'll see what I can do, but I make no promises," he growled. "Now, do you happen to sell spell books?"

The shopkeeper looked under his counter. "Yeah, I got a few. Wanna see the selection?" Sauron nodded as the shopkeeper pulled out a couple of spells tomes. Glancing at them, Sauron noticed three with the same fiery symbol from before, two purple books with some strange arch-like shape, and two orange ones with a tree of sorts on it, and a gold one with a bird-like symbol. Glancing at the sides, he picked out one labeled "Frostbite" on it, both of the ones with the arch symbol ("Conjure Familiar" and "Raise Zombie"), and one of the books with a tree on it labeled "Candlelight".

Counting out the necessary amount of gold, Sauron dropped it on the counter and took the four books with him. The shopkeeper nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you friend!" Sauron lazily waved a hand as he walked out the door, already having stuck his nose into the "Raise Zombie" tome.

Glancing at the setting son, Sauron turned towards Gerdur's house. It had been a long day, and he needed to get his bearings straightened out in this world.

_End Chapter_

**Author's Notes: Wow, 16 pages in a Microsoft Word document! Not bad for a first chapter. I hope I captured Sauron's character right (given that his personality isn't really elaborated on in the Lord of the Rings other than he's evil and he's power-hungry) and I may be changing his character slightly. He'd still be dark, but he may be more of a "Neutral Evil" rather than a "Chaotic Evil" if that makes any sense. I also may have channeled some of Madara from Naruto with his love of battle and somewhat sarcastic taunting. Hopefully it works for him. So, what do you guys think? Should I continue this story? Leave a rate, comment, follow, whatever it is you want to do. I'll see you guys in the next chapter, if this story continues. Also, on the "Witch-King Cometh V2" I'm still working on that one. It might get posted soon. Depending on circumstances. Well, see ya on the flip side!**

_**Dragon Language Translations:**_

"**Zu'u Alduin! Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!" - I am Alduin! Most mighty of any in the World!**

**Dovahkiin! - Dragonborn**

"**Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!" - Arrogant mortals! Your pride will be humbled!**


	2. Chapter 2: Bleak Falls Barrow

There and Back Again: Sauron's Tale

Chapter 2: Bleak Falls Barrow (and Various other Annoying Things)

**Author's Notes: Wow. 167 views, 6 favorites, 7 follows, and one comment! Not bad for the first chapter! Given these statistics, I'm confident enough in my story to write and post the second chapter. So like I said, leave a review, follow it, or favorite it, I don't care which. Alright, let's get this show on the road, and I'll see you at the end of the chapter. I hope this works out right!**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series or the Lord of the Rings franchise. They are the properties of their respective owners. Please support the official release._**

As the sun rose up on the quiet little mountain town of Riverwood, people began to get up and go about their daily business.

A rooster began to crow loudly, signaling the start of the new day. The bird was immediately silenced by a sudden burst of electricity, blasting the poor animal off of its perch on the fence. The rooster wisely decided to play dead, in hopes that whatever was firing the lightning would believe it to be finished off and leave it alone.

Sauron glared at the bird from his position on Gerdur's porch, lightning still crackling in his hand. Satisfied that the rooster wouldn't be bothering him for a while, he cut off the flow of magicka and started down the porch.

Putting his helmet on, Sauron glanced down the road and set off in the direction of the city called "Whiterun" by Gerdur. She had asked/ordered Sauron to go to the city and let the Jarl know about the dragon attacking Helgen. Sauron honestly didn't understand why he was listening to a mortal woman of all things, but he was going anyways. He walked down the way, his nose once again stuck in one of the spell tomes he had (the one labeled "Frostbite") while he kept looking up from time to time in order to make sure he was still going in the right direction.

Hearing a growl from his left, Sauron turned to find a dark-furred wolf charging at him. Sauron glared at the wolf with an expression that was a mixture of annoyance and slight pity. Holding his hand forward as frost-like fog filled his palm, he fired a jet of freezing wind at the wolf. The wolf quickly gained a new coat of frost before succumbing to the extreme temperature and dying.

Sauron eyed the frost-covered corpse for a moment before striding onward, not caring enough to even bother with skinning the animal. Glancing at his hand, he fired another jet of frost, before cutting it off and growling slightly. Flipping the tome back open, he kept reading as he walked.

While he read, Sauron idly kept firing off jets of frosty air from his unoccupied hand. Growling lightly once more, he switched to fire and blasted off a gout of fire from his hand instead. Noting the difference in the amount let off and the power behind each, Sauron raised an eyebrow before looking back at the book. Comparing once again the differences, this time with lightning added in for extra analysis, Sauron couldn't help but feel slightly cheated with the fact that he could expel more flames and electricity than he could with ice. _"Strange,"_ he mused to himself. _"Is it because of all of my time in Mordor that my 'Destruction' spells as this book calls them, could be more aligned with fire and lightning? I'll need to research this more thoroughly once I find a better place to study this form of magic."_

Hearing a rustle in the bushes, he sent out a burst of lighting, killing another wolf in hiding. Looking at the corpse, he was struck with an idea. Channeling his magicka into a light blue orb with flames rolling off of it, he fired it into the corpse. The dead wolf glowed blue and slowly rose in the air, tendrils of light blue energy coiling around it, before it was set down on its feet, its eyes now a dull yellow and light blue cracks appearing on its skin. Wisps of a black, smoke-like substance rolled off of it at small intervals, and it seemed to moan slightly. Sauron eyed the results, quite pleased with himself. It was good to know that he had a knack for these "Conjuration" spells, or at least the ones for raising the dead. He wasn't called the "Necromancer" in Middle Earth for nothing you know!

As he walked down the road, his undead wolf at his side, Sauron took note of the battle going on to his left. Idly watching, he saw a group consisting of a man in steel armor like his own, a woman in fur armor with a shoulder pauldron on the left shoulder, and a woman in some form of a leather vest with shoulder pauldrons and green fabric under her arm bracers. (To himself, he wondered if it could be considered armor, given it looked rather thin to be considered armor in his eyes.)

He watched on as the group went up against a giant of sorts, though this one was much smaller than the giants he remembered of Middle Earth. Within minutes the group managed to kill the giant, no small feat since while it was small compared to the ones of his memory, it was still pretty large regardless. With a yelp, Sauron's undead wolf suddenly fell over as if it had just died again, the magic leaving its corpse. Sauron watched with interest as the body of the wolf disintegrated into a pile of ashes in seconds. Idly wondering if this would happen often, Sauron made a mental note to try to prolong the length of the construct risen if it was possible.

Sauron was cut out of his thoughts when the redheaded woman in the thin leather armor (he still couldn't decide what to call it) walked over to him, her silver eyes glaring at him with disgust, a scowl upon her painted face. "Well, that fight's over. No thanks to you," she growled in an accusing tone. Sauron raised an eyebrow at the woman (idly wondering where her voice sounded familiar to him, almost like he had heard it in a more annoying fashion once before) "I didn't join in because it wasn't my fight. Besides, your steps seemed stable enough to be able to finish the fight without my help," he replied in an uncaring tone.

The woman sighed. "Well, a TRUE warrior would enter in regardless of the obvious outcome, and should be eager to prove his mettle," she retorted. Sauron felt like rolling his eyes, but didn't follow that urge in favor of sneering at the woman. "A TRUE warrior should be proud of his own skills," he snarled. "And they shouldn't feel the need to aid those weaker than them if they show they can handle even a SMALL challenge!"

The woman growled, her eyes flashing amber for the briefest of seconds. Sauron's crimson eyes flashed with the form of fire and slit pupils in response.

The woman looked at Sauron's imposing form for a moment longer. "Well, regardless of one's tactics, you still look strong enough to be a decent Shield-Brother," she remarked. Sauron's eyebrow raised once again. "Shield-Brother?" "An outsider eh? Never heard of the Companions?" Sauron shook his head. "For the hundredth time, I only just got here!"

The woman ignored his outburst and kept on, much to his annoyance. "We're an order of warriors, brothers and sisters in honor. (Sauron snarled a bit at the word "honor") And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough. What do you say? Interested?"

Sauron scoffed and crossed his arms. "Sounds like a waste of time." The woman growled again. "Well, if you decide to get that oversized head of yours out of your ass, talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr if you change your mind," she spat angrily.

Turning away and leading away her "Shield-Siblings" the woman walked in the direction of Whiterun without so much as a backward glance at the former Lord of Mordor. Sauron ignited a ball of fire in his palm, pondering whether killing the red-haired woman would bring about any negative consequences to his "mission" in Whiterun. Snarling angrily, he extinguished the flames in his hand and kept walking. Pulling out the other Conjuration book ("Conjure Familiar") he practiced with the flow of magicka in his hand, trying to calm himself and prevent any future murders by his person while in the city.

_Whiterun…_

The guards in this city were apparently all idiots. The minute he got to the gate, Sauron was immediately accosted by a guard stating something along the lines of "City's closed with the dragons about," and "official business only!" Sauron was in a bit of a disbelief. Sure dragons could cause large amounts of destruction, but was it really necessary to close down a whole city when a SINGLE dragon had been sighted rather far away? (Sauron had consulted the map Gerdur had given him, and was rather surprised to see the distance between Helgen and Whiterun. This further led to his confusion over the matter.) The stupidity of mortal men never ceased to amaze/annoy the former Dark Lord.

The guard was immediately placated just by Sauron stating that "Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid," and seconds later he was let into the city with no strings attached. Again, Sauron contemplated the minds of mortals as he walked.

Glancing to his right, Sauron noticed a blonde man in Imperial armor arguing with the woman working the forge. Fighting down the snarl that rose in his throat, he simply kept walking with his tome in hand. He was a bit annoyed when the man in the Imperial armor grabbed his shoulder. It took every ounce of willpower in Sauron's body to not incinerate the man for even _daring_ to touch him.

"Grey-Mane or Battle-Born?" he asked. Sauron turned to the man and with thinly veiled disgust simply asked "What?" The man groaned. "Ya got stones in your ears? I asked you, Grey-Mane or Battle-Born?" he angrily asked. Sauron once again fought the urge to set the man on fire. "I don't know what you're talking about, now remove your hand or have it removed from your person!" Sauron snarled. The man twitched, but removed his hand. "New in Whiterun eh? Well, here we have two main clans: Battle-Born and Grey-Mane. The only difference is, the Grey-Manes turned their back on the Empire, while we Battle-Born stayed loyal."

Sauron's face contorted into a sneer of disgust. "And I should care why?" "Because it's my business to know where people stand. Now I'll ask you again: Grey-Mane or Battle-Born?" the man asked.

Sauron's temper finally snapped. "I don't care about your stupid war!" he bellowed as he sent the blonde-haired man sprawling on the ground with a well-aimed punch. The man spat out blood as he looked at Sauron in disbelief. "Touch me again," Sauron growled. "I. Will. Kill. You. Then I'll send your corpse straight to your precious Empire, and we'll see how they reward your loyalty!"

Leaving the man sputtering on the cobblestones, Sauron proceeded to walk straight in the direction of the palace on top of the hill. Idly ignoring the small chatter going around, Sauron once again buried his nose in his spell tome in an attempt to try and calm down before he ended up killing someone.

Unfortunately luck wasn't on Sauron's side as he ran into a dark-skinned man in rather expensive looking clothing, who decided to take one look at Sauron and proceed to brag in a snobbish tone. "Do you get up to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you don't," he drawled in a rather annoying voice. Sauron's temper frayed again as he slammed the man against the wall of a nearby building, mace in hand.

"Really? Well, I can send you up to the clouds if you prefer," he snarled, raising his mace threateningly behind his head. The man gulped and shook his head frantically. "No? Then get out of my sight before I show you just how well my steps go then," Sauron said as he shoved the man away. The snobbish man quickly fled, leaving only the smell of soiled trousers behind.

Sauron wrinkled his nose in disgust before trudging onward to his destination.

_Dragonsreach… Jarl's Palace…_

Upon entering, Sauron was once again accosted by a guard, this time a Dark Elf in leather armor.

"What's the meaning of this? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." Sauron groaned inwardly. "I have a message for the Jarl," he said irritably. The Dark Elf perked up, but still kept her sword drawn in a combative stance. "As the Jarl's Housecarl, any messages demanding the Jarl's attention can be said to me. Now speak." Sauron sighed in annoyance. "I was told to give the message directly to the Jarl," he said, gritting his teeth.

The Housecarl's eyes narrowed. "Whatever you have to say to the Jarl can be said to me," she responded. "I'm starting to think that-"

Surprisingly enough it was the Jarl himself who spoke up this time. "It's alright Irileth. I want to hear what he has to say." For some reason, Sauron felt a rather immature urge to stick out his tongue at the irked Housecarl, but decided against it for obvious reasons.

Sauron walked forward, almost in a form of arrogant swagger, and stood before the throne. He almost had the feeling that he should get down on one knee like he did with his former master, but he didn't. It wouldn't feel right to kneel to a man that was (most likely) weaker than him.

"So, what's this all about? Something about Riverwood perhaps?" the Jarl asked. Sauron stood up a little straighter. "A dragon has attacked Helgen. Gerdur believes that Riverwood is next in line for such an attack." The Jarl's eyebrow rose up near the circlet nestled in his straw-colored locks. "Gerdur? Runs the lumber mill if I'm not mistaken? A pillar of the community, not prone to flights of fancy. And you say it was a dragon that attacked Helgen?" "Yes, I had a great view from where the Imperials were trying to execute me for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Sauron growled.

The Jarl gave a small start at that. "Really? That's… not really surprising given how blade-happy they are these days. So it was a dragon?" "That is correct." The Jarl swore angrily under his breath. "By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" he muttered.

He turned to the tanned man standing beside his throne. "What say you now Proventus? Do we trust in the strength of our walls against a dragon?" he asked. The man didn't' say anything but looked ready to speak at any moment. "My liege," Irileth began. "We should send a detachment to Riverwood immediately. It's in the most immediate danger."

The tanned man then decided to speak up in a nervous tone. "The Jarl of Falkreath would view that as a provocation! He'd assume we're planning to join Ulfric's side and attack him!" Sauron's gaze hardened at the sight of the man. He was a coward. Sauron hated cowards, and he never understood the need for Saruman to have that sniveling mess known as Worm-Tongue with him. Sure he had some uses, but he was a coward and a disgrace. Thus, Sauron harbored an intense dislike of Worm-Tongue, and so he held a dislike for the cowardly man before him.

"We should-" "ENOUGH!" The Jarl angrily interrupted his aide, his face contorted in fury. "I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and SLAUGHTERS MY PEOPLE!" he roared. Turning to the Dark Elf he immediately assumed the role of a commander at war. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once!" Irileth nodded. "I've already ordered my men to muster by the main gate." The Jarl smiled softly. "Good. Don't fail me." Proventus (the cowardly aide) shivered softly at the Jarl's fierce glare. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties," he murmured. The Jarl's glare never left his retreating form. "That would be best," the Jarl growled.

Sauron watched the aide leave, and he idly wondered if this entire world was simply an alternate version of Middle Earth. If that was true, he had an idea who Worm-Tongue's alternate version would be.

He tuned out the Jarl for a moment until the man began leading him over to what appeared to be an office of some sorts. Once there, Sauron was confronted with his first sight of a wizard in Skyrim. To be honest, he seemed a little disappointing compared to the ones back in Middle Earth. He was just a thin man with unkempt brown hair and blue hooded robes. He had a rather shrewd look about him, and Sauron immediately felt he wasn't going to get along with this man that much. He just seemed… weak. Sauron never thought he'd ever think this, but he almost wished for Gandalf or Saruman to be in this world so they could show the weaker wizards what it meant to use magic.

Half listening half ignoring the conversation, Sauron eventually pieced together that the "wizard" named Farengar Secret-Fire (a clue he couldn't be trusted if any!) wanted Sauron to be a glorified delivery boy to go and uncover some archaic tablet in the old ruins near Riverwood. Sauron really didn't feel like he NEEDED to go and complete this task, but the fact that the ruins were said to be crawling with bandits and forms of undead made him change his mind. He needed something to challenge him in order for his strength to fully return, or at least gauge his current level of strength.

After giving a slight nod to the wizard, the wizard began launching into a rant of sorts stating his and the Jarl's lack of patience on the matter. Raising a hand to cut him off, Sauron gave the wizard a look.

"I don't want to hear it," he said in an emotionless tone. "However, I do need to ask two questions. One: Where is the easiest place for one to study magic?" Farengar thought for a moment. "Ah, a prospective student eh?" Sauron ignored that comment. "Well, I'm not much for teaching, but if you have the aptitude you should try your luck at the College of Winterhold," he remarked. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. "And second, do you have any spell tomes I can purchase?"

Farengar smiled softly. "I had you figured for a mage. Take a look," he said as he pulled out a much larger selection of books out. Compared to the shop in Riverwood, Farengar was practically a miniature library.

Glancing through the stacks, Sauron picked out five books, four Destruction tomes and one Conjuration tome. (Firebolt, Lighting Bolt, Fire Rune, Lightning Rune, and Conjure Flame Atronach) Handing over the last of his gold, Sauron couldn't help but feel a little peeved at the costs of just a few books. But even he knew, knowledge is power, and given the high demand it means much higher prices.

Stuffing the tomes in his back, Sauron ignored the passing statements about the man's patience once again as he walked out the door. He had a task to complete, and he felt the need to work off some anger by killing something in a rather brutal fashion.

_Later… On the trail to Bleak Falls Barrow…_

Sauron trudged up the dirt road, having spent some of his anger on another pack of wolves that were moronic enough to attack him. After killing one, he resurrected it using one of his spells and had it attack one of its pack mates while he crushed the skull of the other one with his mace. After that feat of violence, Sauron's temper wasn't quite appeased yet. He had pulled out his new Conjuration tome and had finished it right after killing the wolf pack, and he was currently reading the Destruction tome labeled "Firebolt"

As he walked, he found himself near a depilated tower with a few bandits inside who all thought it to be great sport to attack the muscular figure in steel armor and a horned helmet, who was reading a spell tome while an undead wolf patrolled near him. He idly wondered to himself if all the so-called "feared bandits" of Skyrim were all this idiotic, or was it just this bunch alone?

After they killed his undead wolf, Sauron finally decided to at least _try_ and take them seriously. This was rather difficult with their claims of "Can't wait to count out your coin!" or "You'll be so much easier to rob when you're dead!" and the fact that they were all wearing fur armor.

Unhooking his mace from his belt, Sauron ignited a ball of fire in his left hand. Curling his fingers around the fire, the flames quickly condensed and became wilder than before. Thrusting out his hand, Sauron shot a bolt of fire right into the face of the approaching bandit. The results were immediate as the bandit's entire head became engulfed in flames, killing him in a rather slow and painful fashion.

Sauron kicked the corpse and groaned. "Well, I guess I was giving you too much credit once again," he muttered. Glancing up, he just barely managed to dodge the arrow aimed for his shoulder. Right as he moved however, a second arrow lodged itself in between the slats of his armor at his other shoulder. Roaring in pain for a moment, Sauron eyed the arrow before yanking it out. Fingering the bloody wound, he held up his blood-covered finger for a moment before lapping the viscous liquid right off. A grin slowly found its way onto his face as he began chuckling slowly. The bandit immediately backed up, uneasiness apparent on his face as the armored man before him began laughing in what appeared to be a mixture of insanity and exuberance.

"I can't believe how much I've missed this!" The bandit was a bit struck dumb by Sauron's comment. "The flow of blood from an open wound, the feeling of flesh working and tiring! This is what I've missed! I've truly missed the pure thrill of a fight!" he yelled, the smile never leaving his face. The bandit's uneasiness quickly gave way to fear as Sauron simply kept laughing.

Sauron's laughs slowly died down, his face setting itself back into an emotionless mask. Forming a small purple energy ball with inwardly spiraling energy of a lighter purple color, he charged it up in his hand and tossed it in front of him. The ball of energy exploded into a gigantic purple portal reminiscent of a black hole, before dissipating to reveal something floating in place of the portal.

The creature resembled a horned woman completely composed of fire and spiky black armor over specific parts of its body. The Flame Atronach turned a flip in the air before flying straight at the bandit. The fur-covered man panicked and tried to run, only for the Atronach to grab him in both armored hands and ignite his "armor" on fire, slowly burning him to death in the Daedra's grasp. The man let out a scream of pain and anguish as he slowly melted away to a charred skeleton. The fiery Daedra dropped the bones and flew back over to Sauron. He eyed the Atronach with approval, especially with its sadistic way of killing the man.

"I have a feeling that we are going to get along just fine," he said with a smirk. The Atronach let off a giggle that sounded like the hissing of a burning log as she (Sauron assumed the Atronach was a female) flew around Sauron happily. Looking at the summoned being, Sauron looked right at where her eyes would be.

"As of now, your name shall be Ghashgûl," he told the Atronach. The now-named "Ghashgûl" giggled again before blowing a kiss at the Dark Lord before vanishing in another portal like the one she appeared from. Sauron blinked in surprise at the actions of his new summon, but simply ignored it in favor of going inside the tower and finding something else to kill.

At the top of the tower, Sauron's wish was granted in the form of a much tougher-looking bandit than the other two he and Ghashgûl had already killed. This one was wearing actual armor, steel like the ones Sauron was wearing, and he wielded a shield and mace. This mace however was much different from Sauron's.

It seemed spikier, and it was made of a somewhat greenish metal that matched the skin color of the tusked man wielding it. He charged down the stairs upon seeing Sauron, letting out a cry of "No one bests an Orc!"

Sauron was a bit taken aback at his claim to be an Orc, for he looked nothing like the Orcs of Middle Earth. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he never realized the Orc was right next to him. The greenish mace slammed down onto his shoulder, dislocating it instantly. Sauron growled in pain for a moment before smashing his own mace into the Orc's helmeted head. The Orc yelled as his helmet dented and slipped over his eyes, effectively blinding him. He swung wildly, trying to hit his opponent. Sauron snarled in disgust before beheading him with a well-aimed swing of his mace into the Orc's mostly unprotected neck.

Snarling slightly, Sauron wrenched his shoulder back into place before casting one of the few healing spells he had learned in this world. The golden light formed into tendrils of energy that flowed in and out of his body, slowly healing his wounds. Once he was satisfied with how he had healed, he cut off the flow of magicka, panting slightly as he let his reserves recharge. Angrily, he slammed an armored fist down on his opponent's chest, denting the steel covering the body. _"Dammit!"_ he raged mentally. _"How am I to regain my strength, if a simple HEALING spell drains me of my reserves? It's pathetic!"_

After a few minutes of waiting so his exhausted magicka reserves could regenerate, Sauron stood and glanced down at the mace lying next to his opponent's corpse. Picking it up, he weighed it in his hand while weighing his steel mace in his other hand. After going through a few practice swings, he hooked the newer mace to his belt and dropped the steel one next to the dead Orc. He looked over the corpse for a moment longer before forming a ball of light blue energy in his hand and firing it at the still cooling body. The familiar tendrils of blue energy rolled around the body, raising it up once more as Sauron's currently loyal slave. Sauron handed the steel mace to the risen Orc, satisfied with his Necromancy at this current level.

After smashing the lock on the chest at the top of the tower, Sauron quickly removed a decent-sized pouch of gold coins, some arrows, a horned iron helmet, and a golden spell tome labeled "Fast Healing" Eyeing the spell tome, Sauron cracked it open after stowing away the useful things from the chest and started down the tower to continue onward to Bleak Falls Barrow.

_At Bleak Falls Barrow…_

The barrow wasn't guarded that well. Only three fur-covered bandits patrolled it, all of which were easily dispatched by both Sauron and his undead slave. After taking a few gold coins from their corpses, plus a few red healing potions and a blue magicka potion, Sauron regarded the door to the barrow. It was large and made of wrought iron, with the face of a dragon emblazoned on it. Sauron raised a foot to kick the door down, but was cut off by the sound of his undead minion collapsing into ashes once again. Groaning in irritation, he mentally made a note to research ways to keep the corpse moving longer without disintegrating once he got to the "College" that the wizard at Dragonsreach mentioned.

Once again raising his foot, Sauron kicked open the doors of the ruins. The two bandits talking by a campfire immediately saw him and charged at him with weapons raised. Sauron didn't bat an eyelash as he made one's head turn a complete 180 degrees with a strike from his new mace, before grabbing the other's shoulder in his hand and igniting flames on her fur armor.

Dropping the burnt corpse, he strode over to the chest sitting by the fire and once again bashed the lock open with his mace. Kicking it open, he rummaged around in the chest. He didn't find much of anything, save a small amount of gold and an iron war axe. Growling under his breath, Sauron turned and looked around the ruins for a moment. Forming a dark ball of energy in his hand, he opened a portal to his left. Ghashgûl appeared in a swirl of indigo energy, turning a flip and let out a hissing giggle. Atronach at his side, Sauron grabbed an unlit torch sitting next to the chest and lit it by holding it next to his summon. Holding the torch aloft, Sauron and Ghashgûl ventured into the darkness with their only light being the torch and Ghashgûl herself.

After crushing the skull of another draugr, Sauron was beginning to get a little annoyed with the overabundance of undead in this temple.

At first, after exterminating a rather annoying group of bandits and finding the "golden claw" the shopkeeper in Riverwood had mentioned, he ran into the first wave of draugr. They were a bit of a challenge at first, and Sauron was glad for it. That is, until Ghashgûl managed to hit one with a Firebolt and it was consumed in flames in seconds. Upon using his first fire spell (which apparently was simply named "Flames" in a most creative fashion) on them, Sauron found himself disappointed and slightly annoyed at how easy it was to kill them.

Sauron was also a little perturbed with the fact that he couldn't keep Ghashgûl in the physical plane for very long, something that irked both himself and the Atronach in question. She wanted to stay by Sauron's side and incinerate things, while Sauron wanted her to stay in the physical world to serve him. Nevertheless, he could still summon her back, but it was still a bit taxing on his magicka reserves. Again, he resolved to research this once he got to Winterhold.

Blasting another screaming draugr with a plume of fire, Sauron watched as Ghashgûl finished "playing" with her prey before disintegrating the burning corpse. Sighing, he walked down one of the hallways until he came to a rather large door. The door seemed rather thick, and he felt that he couldn't just smash his way through this at his current level of strength. **(A/N: Just to clarify in case Sauron seems god-like, he's not. It's just that all the enemies at lower levels are kind of weak to begin with, and while he may be somewhat stronger compared to them, he's nowhere near his original power.)** There were three rings, each with a different animal printed on a small decal, and a circular lock sat right in the center.

Sauron rolled his eyes at the sight of the foot-shaped indentation in the lock. He could obviously tell the claw was meant to go there. Glancing down at the golden claw, he noted the animals lined up vertically on the "palm" of the claw. Turning the rings to the corresponding animal, he placed the claw in the lock, pushed inward and turned. The three rings spun until all of them had an owl symbol on them, before the door slowly sank into the ground. _"Really?"_ Sauron thought. _"That's a puzzle? Geez, why don't they just write it on the walls like they did earlier in this stupid ruin?"_

Upon walking through the doorway, Sauron was actually struck dumb at what he saw within. The sanctum basically looked like an oasis of sorts, complete with a rather magnificent sight of light raining down upon an ornate looking wall with the same dragon decal from the doors emblazoned right at the top. Walking up the stairs to the wall, he noticed the runes littering it, almost like writing. As he leaned closer for further inspection, one of the words began glowing light blue. Stepping back in slight shock, Sauron was immediately assaulted by images of objects and people getting thrown back slightly. A faint sound of chanting resounded in his mind as tendrils of bluish-orange energy shot out and flowed into his body. Wincing and fighting the urge to yell, the assault on Sauron's mind suddenly stopped. And as it stopped, a word popped into his mind

**-Fus-**

Sauron shook his head, idly wondering what the word "Fus" meant. It sounded a bit like the language the dragon from Helgen had spoken, but he wasn't sure. The former Dark Lord of Mordor was cut off from his thoughts when the stone coffin behind him suddenly exploded. Turning, he saw a draugr getting out of the coffin, only it looked much tougher than the other draugr he had seen.

This one actually had armor on, as well as a horned helmet. It wielded an old looking greatsword, however the blade was littered with light blue runes glowing along the edges. A frost-style enchantment perhaps? The draugr immediately zeroed in on Sauron and inhaled deeply. Then it shouted.

**"****Fus, RO DAH!"**

A wave of sky blue energy expanded from the draugr's mouth, impacting into Sauron. He felt a familiar feeling of being thrown like a ragdoll as he impacted against the stone wall. Swearing loudly in the Black Speech as he got to his feet, Sauron quickly summoned Ghashgûl as he pulled his mace from his belt. Ghashgûl immediately let out a cackle that sounded like a burning forest collapsing as she immediately began unleashing Firebolt after Firebolt at the draugr. It simply took them without flinching, the frosty aura given off by his enchanted blade quickly snuffing out the flames.

Dashing forward at speeds that no draugr should move, it slashed its blade across Sauron's chest, opening a large gash in the steel armor. Sauron roared in pain as blood quickly began to flow before freezing, serving only to annoy him more. Touching his bloodied armor, Sauron's shocked face quickly morphed into a wide grin. He turned to the Atronach looking at him with concern, and simply chuckled as he turned his gaze to the draugr.

"Ghashgûl," he said. "I think that we're about to have some fun."

Sauron raised his mace to his side, electricity sparking over his left hand, the wide grin never leaving his face. He turned to his Atronach summon, and motioned with a slight tilt of his head. Ghashgûl cackled once again as she unleashed another barrage of Firebolts at the draugr. The draugr, not even bothering to dodge, simply charged forward once again. Sauron shifted to the side to avoid the slice from the blade, wincing as his frozen wound cracked slightly.

Ignoring the pain, Sauron brought his mace down on the draugr's arm. The bone snapped and the half-rotted arm flailed in an unnatural fashion. The draugr glanced at the useless limb before glaring at its opponent.

**"****Bolag Aaz, Mal Lir!"**

Sauron raised an eyebrow. He got the impression that the walking corpse was insulting him in some fashion.

**"****Fus, RO DAH!"**

Readying himself, Sauron rolled out of the path of the familiar wave of energy before charging at the draugr. Ghashgûl quickly held both her hands together and began cupping a large fireball in her grasp. As Sauron staggered the draugr with a blow to the head with his mace, Ghashgûl thrust her hands forward and shot the fireball right at it.

The fire immediately affected the undead beast as it fell to its knees. Sauron stood before it and grabbed it by the head, forcing it to look him in the eyes.

"You did well…" A mace swing later and the draugr's head was shattered into small piles of bloody flesh and bone. "But your steps were still too shallow in the end," Sauron finished with a smirk.

Picking up the draugr's enchanted greatsword, Sauron eyed it before sheathing it on his back. Turning to the draugr's coffin, Sauron reached inside to pull out a pentagon-shaped stone tablet with the same dragon decal from earlier printed at the top. The former Dark Lord allowed himself a smile. Now he was on track once again. Turning to Ghashgûl, he nodded at the Atronach before turning to stare once again at the large stone wall. What was its significance? And what was that word that forced itself into his mind? The same one used by both that dragon and that draugr? What did it mean? And why did he feel like he should know?

Sauron groaned as he pressed his fingers to his temple. This was going to need further research and explanation than he thought.

_End Chapter:_

**Author's Notes: And that's it for now! So, next chapter will obviously be Dragon Rising, but after that I'm a little stuck on where to go. So I want you guys' opinion:**

**A) Sauron goes to the College of Winterhold to study magic and regain his power**

**Or:**

**B) Sauron continues with the "Main Quest" for Skyrim and goes to see the Greybeards? **

**Heck, if you have another option that could stay in character for Sauron, be my guest and let me hear it! Just know that he will obviously be joining the Volkihar clan from the Dawnguard quests so that might clear up one or two options. I also want you to tell me which Daedric artifacts you think Sauron should eventually get. It should still stay in character, but who knows? I might make him a bit more sympathetic or something. I don't know. But anyways, thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter. See ya on the flip side!**

**_Translations_**

**Ghashgûl- Black speech for "Fire-Wraith"**

**Fus- Dragon language for "Force"**

**Fus Ro Dah- Dragon language for "Force Balance Push" (Unrelenting Force shout)**

**Bolag Aaz, Mal Lir! - Dragon language? Means "Beg (for) Mercy, Little Worm!"**


End file.
